The Mummy Bloggers

by Holly Wainwright

  Those are my three things, GDs, my big bang, my mea-culpa. If you are furious with me and decide to leave our little felt-lined community, I understand. Or, at least, I will pretend to understand. I don’t know what the future holds for Grace and me and our little family, but I know what it doesn’t hold: It doesn’t hold lies.

  Go forth, be awe-inspiring.

  Your QGD, Abi. x

  It was six o’clock on the Saturday night before the Blog-ahhs, and Abi pushed publish.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ELLE

  Elle was at the ensuite mirror in her hotel room when her phone chimed.

  It was Zoe.

  YOU NEED TO LOOK AT ABI BLACK’S BLOG, NOW.

  As soon as Elle had read those words, her phone starting ringing and beeping and vibrating. Every notification at the same time. The thing was going to explode.

  She dropped her phone on the dresser and backed away from it.

  Then someone started banging at the door. ‘ELLE! ELLE! OPEN IT NOW!’

  Adrian’s voice. He’d come.

  When she pulled it open, he practically fell into the room. ‘My phone,’ he said. ‘It’s blowing up. Something’s going on.’ And then he heard hers.

  Elle went to her phone, flicked it to silent and walked over to the bathroom, placing it inside. She put her hand out for Adrian’s phone, then did the same with it: silent, in the bathroom, door closed.

  She sat down on the bed. She’d been getting ready for dinner with the Blog-ahh heads from San Francisco. They were going to Spice Temple. She was wearing a white silk kimono dress. It was going to be a beautiful night.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Adrian asked as he sat next to her. His face was grey, he was sweating. She thought she could smell whisky on his breath—from the plane?

  ‘You weren’t up to this,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re falling apart.’

  ‘What has happened?’ he asked again.

  ‘Abi. Zoe. Cate—’

  ‘Abi?’ Adrian lay back on the bed, his feet still on the floor. He was in a suit. His hand-luggage wheelie case was on the floor. ‘Zoe? What?’

  ‘When we look at our phones,’ Elle said, ‘we will find a blog post by Abi accusing us of making up your cancer.’

  ‘But… I haven’t seen Abi. I’ve barely seen the girls.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. She’s been talking to someone who has seen you.’ Suddenly, Elle realised there was a loose end. ‘Are the boys home with Cate?’

  ‘No. When I told her I’d decided to go to Sydney after all, she said she wouldn’t be able to look after the boys, that she had to go to her mother’s. So they’re with my mum for the night.’

  Elle lay back on the bed, too. She took Adrian’s hand, and they just lay there, phones silent behind the closed bathroom door.

  • • •

  On Elle and Adrian’s wedding day, they had lain together on a hotel bed like this in the morning before the ceremony.

  As per tradition, Elle had spent the night away from the townhouse they’d shared for just a few months. The wedding was going to be tiny. Just a few of Elle’s gym friends, a few of Adrian’s old rowing buddies. His mother, begrudgingly. Alex and Arden.

  Elle had asked the girls if they wanted to be her bridesmaids, and she was secretly relieved when they’d said no. Relieved and insulted in equal measure. It would have made a neat story to have his daughters publicly bless their union, but it was better for the photographs if they didn’t. Too bohemian by far.

  That morning, Elle was getting ready at the Langham, her hair and make-up people arriving any moment, when there was a banging on the door.

  Adrian. He was flushed, sweaty. He was wearing his suit.

  ‘Elle, I can’t. I just can’t. I want to, but it’s too soon. Everything has happened so fast. I’m worried about the girls, my parents, what they’re going to think at work…’

  Elle took his hand, walked him inside and gently pushed him down on the bed.

  ‘You’re being silly, babe,’ she whispered in his ear, lying next to him. ‘You’re a man who knows what he wants. You want this. You can’t let what everyone else thinks stop you from getting what you want, can you?’

  ‘But… we’re already together. My divorce came through three weeks ago. It’s just too fast.’

  ‘When we fell in love,’ Elle whispered, ‘that first night, in the shower. What did you tell me?’

  She could see that he was thinking about that moment—that she was getting through to him. ‘I told you,’ said Adrian, ‘I told you, I thought with a woman like you, I could do absolutely anything, that I felt invincible.’

  ‘Well then, why are you suddenly doubting that?’ Elle began undoing Adrian’s belt. ‘Why are you letting that fear in? You need to focus on one thing: us. We can do anything together.’

  It wasn’t the most conventional pre-wedding ritual, but it worked for them.

  Afterwards, they lay on the hotel bed, holding hands, feet on the floor.

  ‘It’s only us,’ she said. ‘Shut out everyone else. They don’t know who you are. I do.’

  • • •

  ‘Adrian, we can fix this,’ Elle said now.

  ‘How? How can we possibly fix this?’

  ‘We need to focus. I am focused—now it’s your turn.’

  A knock on the door. ‘Elle, we need to talk. It’s Samira, and it’s kind of urgent.’ The Blog-ahhs publicity assistant sounded terrified.

  ‘Give me five minutes, Samira darling,’ Elle called back. ‘I’ll come and find you then.’

  ‘Okay… I’ll, I’ll wait in the conference room.’ The girl padded away.

  Adrian looked sick. Really sick. His eyes were closed, his brow was sweaty. He looked like he was willing himself somewhere else.

  Elle started whispering in his ear. ‘It’s just a rumour, Adrian. At this point, it’s just a rumour. It’s Saturday night, so it will be a slow pick-up. As soon as possible, we will issue a denial. There is no evidence. Medical records are sealed. Yes, everyone will be talking about this tomorrow, but no one will be able to prove anything before the awards.’

  Adrian’s eyes opened. He turned his head and met her gaze. ‘We can’t go to the awards tomorrow, Elle. Are you fucking crazy?’

  ‘Yes, we can.’ She stood up. ‘In fact, you know what else we can do? We can go to dinner with the San Francisco people, once you get cleaned up. Everything as normal. You are ill, but you are not dying. You will smile and shake hands, you will look strong and serious—like you are. You will push your food around your plate. No one is going to accuse you of lying to your face. I will be sad but smiling while I tell whoever’s listening that this ongoing hostility between me and Abi stretches back to me and you getting together, and that it’s unfortunate, misplaced jealousy.’

  ‘You could… do that?’

  ‘Adrian—’ she bent over him ‘—for us, I can do anything. We can do anything.’

  He jumped off the bed, pushed her out of the way, ran to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The Blog-ahhs

  ‘Oh shit, it’s Shannon Smart.’ Abi tried to duck behind Grace as they walked towards the neon-lit entrance.

  ‘Babe, she’s hosting the awards,’ said Grace. ‘She’ll be here all night. Besides, I think your chance of flying under the radar is minimal.’

  On the way in, all nominees had to walk up the Blog-ahhs’ idea of a red carpet—a Scrabble-board floor with light-up letters—and then pose for pictures against a huge media wall that spelled out ‘Blog-ahh’ in tiny photos of all the nominees.

  Thanks to the tabloid excitement surrounding the ‘mummy bloggers’, tonight’s ceremony—usually only interesting to industry—had attracted a swarm of young reporters, all craning to see who would arrive next. Waiting, Abi thought, for Elle.

  ‘I can’t decide if the Blog-ahh people will be loving or hating all this attention you’ve brought them,’ Grace said to Abi as
they posed for a picture.

  ‘You don’t have to guess, I know,’ said Abi. ‘Hating. I’ve had my telling off. I think they’re scrambling for a new winner, don’t you?’

  ‘ABI!’ called a young man who was waving a smartphone across the media barricade. ‘Can you elaborate on your shocking accusation that Elle and Adrian Campbell are trying to win this award by faking his serious illness?’

  ‘I’ve said everything I’m going to say on that subject,’ Abi said calmly. ‘It’s up to you guys now.’

  Samira appeared at Abi’s side, looking like she was out of her depth. ‘Nice answer, Abi,’ she said. ‘The Heads are very keen that we don’t pour any more fuel on this fire. Your guests are at your table, by the way. We got the last-minute tickets.’

  ‘Thank you, Samira, you have been a little star through all of this.’ Abi gave her a grin and a one-armed hug.

  Samira almost smiled back.

  • • •

  ‘I don’t have to walk up that thing, do I?’ At the sight of the neon carpet, Mark tried to pull his hand free of Leisel’s. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Come on, this is my moment.’ She yanked his hand. ‘You wouldn’t want to ruin it for me, would you?’

  ‘No. No, I wouldn’t.’ Mark visibly checked himself and ran his hand through his hair. ‘Let’s do it.’

  My husband looks really fucking handsome in his wedding suit, Leisel thought as he stopped in front of the cameras and grabbed her firmly around the waist.

  ‘Was that a pout?’ she had to ask him, laughing, as they walked away.

  ‘Hey, you wanted me to pose. I posed.’

  ‘LEISEL!!!’ a young reporter was yelling. ‘How’s your arm? What do you think of the controversy around Abi Black and Elle Campbell? Do you have any comment on the fake cancer scandal?’

  ‘Is that what we’re calling it now?’ Mark whispered in Leisel’s ear.

  ‘I don’t have any comment on that, thank you for asking,’ Leisel said to the reporter. ‘And my arm’s fine.’ I used to be you, she thought, looking at the young man. I had to bring something, anything, back to the newsroom to lay at the editor’s feet. ‘But,’ she added, ‘I’ll give you a quote about something else if you need it.’

  ‘What about Elle Campbell calling you a lazy mother on a national TV show on Friday? That’s got to sting, right?’ the young man asked, wagging his phone at her.

  Actually, I was never you, Leisel realised.

  ‘Lazy mothers are like glitter-shitting unicorns,’ she said to him. ‘They don’t exist.’ Then she turned to Mark. ‘Come on, I’ll shout you a free fizzy water.’

  • • •

  Adrian was having trouble getting out of the car.

  ‘Darling, this is the last thing I am going to ask you to do.’ Elle spoke slowly and calmly, the way she talked to Freddie when she wanted him to put on some pants. ‘This is the last thing we have to do. After tonight, we will go to ground. We will regroup. We will get professional help. There are people who can help crisis-manage us out of this. You cannot let Abi beat us. Just get out of the car. Smile. You don’t have to say a word.’

  ‘Abi? All this wasn’t Abi’s idea,’ Adrian hissed at her through his teeth. ‘It was yours. I can’t go to war with her for telling the truth. She is the mother of my daughters.’

  ‘And I am the mother of your sons,’ said Elle. ‘Pull yourself together, and let’s see this through.’

  Last night, Adrian had let Elle talk him down. He had done what she’d asked. They had gone to dinner at Spice Temple, and Adrian had followed the script. He had maintained a dignified distance from conversation, moved food around his plate and retired early, as someone with a serious illness might. And then, this morning, Elle had disappeared for a meeting with the directors of the awards.

  She had returned to their room smiling. ‘It’s fine, darling, they don’t believe any of this. They’re on our side. I think I’m their favourite.’

  Sitting in the car now, Adrian felt like he was back on the floor of that shower in the Balwyn house, five years ago. He couldn’t breathe, the lights of the casino outside were blurring, his heart was smashing in his chest.

  ‘Adrian,’ Elle said, ‘come on. One last thing. For us.’

  Fuck it. Get it together, Adrian told himself. This was your choice. All of it. Get it done.

  He shook his head, took a deep breath and pushed the car door open.

  • • •

  ‘ELLE, ELLE!’ The cry went up as soon as Elle and Adrian stepped onto the flashing Blog-ahh Carpet. With just a couple of tiny edits, thought Elle, this moment would be perfect. If only I didn’t know what they were going to ask me.

  ‘Elle, does your husband really have cancer?’

  ‘Adrian, are you really suffering from lymphoma?’

  ‘Elle, do you have a message for Abi Black?’

  Elle pivoted left and right for the cameras. She looked immaculate in her white lace dress. Back at the hotel, she’d shared getting-ready Instagram posts with her people, each including the hashtags #businessasusual and #hatersgonnahate, and the responses had been suitably gushy.

  Perfection. #babe

  Looking flawless is the best revenge #eyebrowgoals

  The jewels! Slay, sister #stylishmumma

  It was true that Elle’s phone had been under siege all day, but after her meeting with the Blog-ahh directors this morning, she was feeling calm.

  Adrian, standing next to her, gaunt and grey in his Tom Ford tux, whispered, ‘You don’t seriously think you might still win, do you?’

  ‘Darling, you’d be amazed,’ she replied. ‘Let’s go over to the reporters—can you lead the way?’ He looked at her, eyes wide open. And did as he was asked.

  ‘We’ve been advised by our lawyers not to comment any further,’ Elle said into the many phones pointed her way, as Adrian stood, silent, behind her. ‘We won’t be making any statements about Abi Black’s outrageous claims. We don’t want to cause any further distress to any of the children involved. Thank you.’

  ‘Come on,’ Adrian said under his breath, tugging her away. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  Samira appeared from the crowd. ‘Elle, Adrian. We’ve changed the seating plan in light of the… developments, as discussed. Let me show you where you are.’

  • • •

  ‘Where are the Bay Area overlords?’ hissed Grace, as she and Abi looked around the cavernous ballroom for the Parenting bloggers’ table.

  The room glimmered under a million fairy lights. Large round tables were set for dinner, surrounded by waiters with white napkins over their arms, juggling their reds and whites. Extroverts were milling and laughing with people they used to work with, introverts were finding their seats early and sticking to them.

  ‘There.’ Abi pointed to an oblong table near the stage at the front of the room. A woman and three men were trying to take their seats but kept being interrupted by guest after guest, desperate for a brush with greatness. ‘They want to kiss the ring,’ Abi said. ‘I’ve already tasted it—it’s bitter.’

  Like Elle, Abi had attended a meeting with the Americans this morning. They were deeply unimpressed by the grenade she’d thrown into tonight’s proceedings, and they had made it clear that if they could have disqualified her, they would have.

  ‘But that wouldn’t be very good optics for us at this point,’ the woman, Patty Semple, had told Abi, knitting her eyebrows together in concern. ‘So we’re just going to let things play out. We would, however, appreciate you not setting off any more bombs.’

  They’re about to be disappointed, Abi had thought. But what she’d said was, ‘So you’re perfectly happy to have a lying sociopath as one of your guests of honour tonight?’

  ‘That’s the kind of unfortunate outburst we’d appreciate you keeping to yourself,’ Patty had said. And that was the end of the conversation.

  ‘Oh well, baby, at least we got to stay in a swanky hotel and kick off our farm boots,’
Abi said to Grace.

  ‘I like this new you,’ said Grace, swirling her sequinned skirt. ‘You seem lighter.’

  Abi found their table on the seating plan. ‘Samira’s right, they’re already here.’

  • • •

  ‘Oh my god, she didn’t.’ Elle saw the Parenting bloggers’ table at the same moment that Abi sat down. And she saw that sitting in the seats previously reserved for her and Adrian were her sister, Zoe, and next to her, Cate.

  ‘What?’ Adrian followed Elle’s line of sight. ‘Jesus. What are they doing here?’

  ‘Abi invited them, obviously. So much for not being at war.’

  Samira was trying to steer Elle and Adrian to their new table. ‘Is there something wrong?’

  ‘Those people, at the Parenting table,’ Elle hissed at her, ‘how did they get tickets?’

  ‘Oh, Abi asked me for a couple of extras late yesterday. I knew we were juggling the tables, so I said it was fine.’ Samira suddenly seemed panicked. ‘Did you want extras? Oh, I should have asked you.’

  ‘You are an idiot,’ Elle said to Samira, who looked like she’d been slapped.

  ‘Elle.’ Adrian touched her arm. ‘Come on, it’s not her fault. Let’s just sit—it’s about to start.’

  • • •

  Mark was looking at the awards’ program. ‘So before we get to Parenting, we have to sit through Fashion, Tech, Beauty, Food…’

  ‘Interiors, Travel, Health,’ Grace added from where she sat, in between Abi and Leisel.

  ‘So good to see you, Gracey,’ Leisel said to Grace, squeezing her hand. ‘You seem a lot happier than last time, despite the fact that your missus is—’ and Leisel lowered her voice to a whisper ‘—a complete fire starter.’

  ‘I know.’ Grace smiled. ‘She’s fucking fearless.’

  ‘Stop talking about me, I can hear you,’ said Abi. ‘Anyway, Leisel, I am almost 100 per cent certain that you are going to win this thing tonight, and you should meet some of the people who helped make that happen—’